


With Autumn Closing In

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Prompt Fill, Spartacus Reverse Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An art exhibit takes Marcia down memory lane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Autumn Closing In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pameluke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pameluke/gifts).



> **Notes:** Based off Janoda’s adorable artwork which you can view [here](http://janoda.tumblr.com/post/54383465855/my-entry-for-the-spartacus-reverse-bang-because) on tumblr. Title taken from Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band’s _Night Moves_. Special thanks to gaygreekgladiator providing beta duties. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

The _Lily Dragon_ gallery was hauntingly empty as Marcia walked through it. Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors as she studied the space, looking at her paintings on the white walls. Some were with oils, other water colors, all from the different periods of her life. She never imagined, back when she first came to this city, that the local arts scene would ask to do a retrospective on her life and her oeuvre as it honored her for contributions to the city and state’s arts community. She never anticipated having her work recognized or to be sought out for commissions, least of all for painting. It’s not that it was a lost art these days, but the styles critics praised ran in cycles and doing her youth, Marcia had been far from _in_. 

There may be wrinkles in her skin now, grey streaks through once dark hair, and a body that’s far from its nimble days, but she knew her eyes still shone with the same joy they did the first time she exhibited a work at this gallery. The owners had changed since then, passing hands from parents to children, yet it still smelled like lavender, and had little touches of Melitta, Oenomaus, and Gannicus everywhere. She’d always loved this gallery. Its founding purpose was to showcase and promote the works of the local community, along with raising money for the Arts and Science Council and the community center down the street. Its current owners, fire-haired Lily included, still honored that message established by their parents. 

Marcia nodded in approval as she flipped through the pamphlet in her hand. They’d published a version online of course, knowing most would forgo the traditional paper stock for one they could read on their phones, but Marcia appreciated the feel of glossy paper and ink under her fingertips. She paused for a moment and shoved off her coat, placing it atop her bag, as she surveyed the gallery again. She left the pamphlet there as well, white stark against the charcoal grey of her overcoat and midnight blue of her bag, as she decided to walk the whole exhibit. She didn’t need a guided tour for the visible timeline of her life; she’d lived it after all. 

Soon the rooms would be filled with soft voices, tinkling laughter, and low murmurs as people schmoozed and studied her art, offering theories as they smiled for photos that would get them mentioned on the local society blogs. Marcia wanted to remember this, the peace of this space, before the official party this evening. She’d have to leave soon, to be properly attired and beautified up to Laeta’s exacting standards, but she could allow herself to reminisce for just a little more.

She bypassed the first few paintings and sketches, the best from her high school and art school portfolios until she came to the first painting of _that_ summer. 

When Marcia was twenty-five, she had long stopped believing in fairytales. She’d always been the little girl forever looking for fairies in the garden, trying to find Thumbelina on the dragonflies, but more than a few unkind experiences in the larger world had firmly hammered out the more fantastical part of her imagination. Her art had suffered for it; her pieces were always technically perfect, but forever lacking in _something_ that was close to soul. She had never planned on going for the Suffering Artist Trope, and honestly, by that summer, she had almost determinedly left her artistic drive in the past. She had a steady, full-time job working in the accounting office of an auto dealership. It wasn’t exactly fulfilling, but she had weekends off and health benefits. Then one when one day in June, when it was hotter than hell and without a working air conditioner, she found herself at the community center for the use of its pool. 

She had to pay $2.50 to get in back then. After all that happened thanks to that one day, she should’ve given them a blank check. 

******************

Marcia Thomas walked out of her apartment into a veritable wall of humidity. Even with her long hair pinned up to the top of her head, it felt like a heavy wet weight she could barely stand. The walk to the community pool took less than five minutes under normal conditions; it was closer to twenty in this weather, her feet working at a sluggish pace. She could see the heat rising off the street, making the lines of the horizon blur and the tar bubble up on the roads. 

When she finally pulled open the glass doors of the community center, she lingered for a moment to revel in the luxurious feel of working central air conditioning on her bare arms and legs. There was a sign on the door proclaiming it as an Official Cooling Center for those in desperate need of a safe place for their health. Marcia curiously looked at the posters and flyers tacked to cracking bulletin boards, a veritable paper rainbow of colors advertising everything from yoga to pottery to guitar classes. There was a whole wall devoted to the local Community Cares section for the kids complete with a bunch of faces smiling out at her from the shiny Kodak paper of the photographs. 

“May I help you?” a soft voice asked. 

Marcia turned to meet the gentle smile of a young woman standing near the reception desk. Her arms were wrapped around a case of bottled water half her size as she carefully placed it down on top of the desk next to five other packs.

Marcia squinted to read the name tag pinned to her shirt. It said _Diona_ with a star near the _D_ and a smiley face near the _a_. Her cheeks were flushed red, and Marcia wondered if it was because of the heat or lifting so many cases of water. Her skin was so fair it could’ve easily been both. She reminded Marcia of far too many Waterhouse paintings.

“Uh, I’m just looking for the pool,” Marcia said. 

Diona laughed. “You and half the city. We have indoor and outdoor options. $2.50 gets you into them all.” She slid behind the desk to pull out a clipboard. Modern technology clearly wasn’t a priority here. She expectantly looked at Marcia. “Are you interested?”

“Definitely,” Marcia said as she slid three dollar bills across the counter. She took her change and deposited it into the tip jar after she signed her name with Diona’s purple pen. “So, what’s fuller right now? Indoor or Outdoor?”

“Outdoor, because the kids can do cannonballs there,” Diona said. “Indoor is where the senior citizens tend to hang out. The kiddie pool’s there too, so you get your screaming children and your old biddies, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Which do you prefer?” Marcia asked.

Diona’s smile shifted from polite to genuine. “Indoor. Lugo’s the regular lifeguard there, and he’s good with the whole crowd, kids and seniors. Castus has his own fan club with the Outdoor regulars, but Lugo has the better signing voice.”

“Singing?” Marcia asked. Just what the hell kind of community center was this? She really didn’t want to check the bulletin board again for any nuns named Maria. 

Diona nodded. “Top of the Hour Sing-A-Longs. You’ll get used to it.” She pointed to the left. “Locker rooms are down that way. Would you like to rent a lock or did you bring one of your own?”

“Brought my own,” Marcia said with a pat to her tote bag. She followed Diona’s directions, easily guided by the smell of chlorine, and let herself smile at the simple prospect of a good swim, even if it apparently came with the _Sound of Music_. 

***********************

There was a painting on one of the walls facing true north that probably meant little to the outside viewer. Even Marcia could admit that in terms of technical skill, it was amateurish, and downright plebian—a few music notes scattered along a clear blue background, wavering in between the water lines and the black lines that marked the depth of a pool. It was the first work Marcia did after a month of visiting the community center; a month of dividing pool time between the seniors and the little kids; a month of hearing Lugo’s melodic voice sounding off the start of each hour.

She’d asked him, after her first week, why he went with the songs. He projected his voice well, aided by the acoustics of the indoor pool, and he explained it was just so much better than the shrill sound of the whistle. The whistle was a warning, while the songs were just reminders. 

After a month of exposure, she’d grown used to Lugo’s songs. On his rare off days she missed it. Not that Duro’s echoing laughter was any less enjoyable, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t come to anticipate it the way she had Lugo’s songs. It was halfway through month two when she realized it wasn’t just Lugo’s voice she missed when he was off, it was the man himself.

Marcia leaned forward and let her fingers run around the edge of the painting’s frame. She’d titled it _For Castus_ , as a thank you to the friend who became their own sort of aquatic cupid.

*************************

Marcia didn’t often head for the outdoor pool. Even though Castus was fun to watch, along with the fan club who ate up every movement of his toned arms and wide smile, Marcia had the type of pale skin that didn’t enjoy the blinding sun. She had two shades: lily white and lobster. It meant that any expansive amount of time outside required triple digit SPF sunblock, wide-brim grandma hats, and long-sleeved cover-ups that she didn’t enjoy in this weather. The only reason she was out there this afternoon was because Diona had insisted a certain event had to be documented.

“Duro embroidered robes for them,” Diona said. “It was part of the project he’s been working on while teaching the neighborhood kids how to make birdhouses. You have to do it for posterity, Marcia, and the children. Come on, you know you want to.”

Marcia had shaken her head and gone back to her apartment to grab her camera. She would’ve complained about it, but an ice cold travel cup of pink lemonade was waiting for when she passed by Diona’s desk again. 

Loud male laughter filled the air, since it was quiet for once. Marcia looked around the empty plastic benches and chairs around the concrete area. 

“Where is everyone?” Marcia asked as she walked over to the group of Lugo, Castus, and Duro. All three were wearing navy blue robes, though Duro had ratty jeans on under his. 

“We cleared the area for your photo shoot,” Castus teased. “Diona can be very convincing when she wants. Besides Sanus is guarding the indoor pool, and that doubles as story time for everyone.”

Marcia nodded. “Of course that absolutely explains everything.” She turned to Duro. “You’re wearing jeans?”

Duro shrugged. “It wasn’t my day to guard. I have to watch little kids finger paint later and these pants have survived their grubby youthful hands for two years now.” He turned with a flourish and batted his eyelashes as he looked over his shoulder. “I’m ready for my close-up Miss Thomas.”

Marcia rolled her eyes and snapped a few quick shots. She didn’t bother to take test shots since she doubted Duro’s would be seen outside of the staff. “Nice embroidery though. I didn’t realize lucky number seven was yours?”

Duro bowed. “Thank you, milady. Castus is of course number one, and Lugo gets twelve because he’s weird. Immortalize my handiwork; it won’t break your camera lens like those ugly mugs will.”

“Go bond with your age group,” Marcia said. She turned back to Castus and Lugo, catching Lugo’s soft, amused look and smiled. “You look nice,” she said.

“We know,” Castus agreed. He threw his arm around Lugo’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Now help us look young and beautiful forever.”

 

***********************

Marcia Thomas had felt like a name too bland and common to make it far in the business. Luckily Diona had been willing to loan hers. At least Marcia Tierney didn’t bring up a Google search for some historical house in Massachusetts. It was the name she still used professionally even if legally she was Marcia Thomas-Voss. She sounded more like a senator now than some regionally known artist. She laughed as she thought of trading in discussions around the dining room table for a senate floor; she had a feeling the combined Voss family branches would drive even the most hardened of politicians to drink. Lord knew she had her moments when their overwhelming presence felt like being stuck in some sort of hurricane. Just when things went calm, the worst damage was on the way. 

A smart person would’ve fled after the first disaster of her totally-not-a-date dinner with Lugo. The whole group of them had gone out, everyone from the center, and it took her halfway through an outdoor viewing of _Back to the Future_ to notice that instead of watching the movie, their friends were watching Lugo watch her. She didn’t know who had been more embarrassed when they were caught out, but she hadn’t seen Lugo blush that badly since. 

It was with those good memories in her mind that she stopped in front of a work she’d entitled _Night Moves of a New Age_. There were no drive-ins left in their town, the relics long gone with the way of the rotary telephone, but with the smell of sweet grass and the thickness of the late summer night air, it had felt like something out of time. 

It had also set the precedent for dates ending in one or the other getting their clothes ruined, but Marcia never really minded that tradition either. 

********************

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Lugo had said as he walked her back to her building. He somehow still smelled crisp and clean, his cologne light and refreshing when Marcia felt like she’d crawled through a swamp.

“It’s okay,” she said. She tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling of mud in her shoes, seeping through her socks. “One of those risks of outdoor festival concerts. At least mud was the only thing I’m covered in. I’ve seen those Woodstock documentaries.”

Lugo’s laugh was a warm, full sound that sent a pleasant shiver down Marcia’s spine. They still went out in groups, enjoying the company of all their friends, but this part was new: the walking home with just the two of them. 

She had been waiting for Lugo to make his move, used to things going much faster with the others in her past, yet Lugo seemed content to keep this relaxed. She watched him as Lugo shared some story about the row of shops they were passing, his hands doing as much talking as his mouth. She nodded whenever there was a small lull and reveled in the soothing cadence of his voice. 

When they finally stopped in front of Marcia’s apartment building, she was more than decided. 

“Lugo,” she said, interrupting his critique of the graffiti on the wall.

“Hmm,” he looked up, the streetlight showing a piece of wayward mud that had dried on the handle of his glasses. 

She leaned forward, making her intentions clear, feeling a sense of relief when a small grin broke over Lugo’s face. 

“Why, Ms. Thomas, I never thought you’d ask,” he teased. 

“Oh, come here,” she said, her small hands cupping his face and pulling him close. She liked this, the warmth seeping from Lugo’s body, the rough pull of his beard and the small laughs shaking his shoulders, and looked forward to more. 

***********************

There were two paintings in the exhibit based off photographs. One had been taken with the eye of a man learning to become a professional, the second hobby of her favorite singing lifeguard. The other was based off a fuzzy cellphone picture taken in a community center rec room with crappy lighting and the unsteady hands of a laughing Duro Voss as Castus egged him on. Both of the works had never been displayed in public before this exhibit, left hanging on living room walls as they moved from a shitty apartment, to a nice apartment, to a townhouse, to a real house over the years. It was considered an art world coup that _The Lily Dragon_ was awarded the approval to display them. As if Marcia could ever deny anything to Melitta, Oenomaus, and Gannicus’ children. 

Marcia lingered before the one based on Duro’s picture. It was just Marcia and Lugo, close together and bathed in golden light, dressed in period costume. That was a good night, one that didn’t feel so significant at the time, and yet later would be the catalyst for so much more. It made Marcia realize she wanted a future with the man standing next to her; the start of a paradigm shift for Marcia and her life.

********************

“A little early for a costume party,” Marcia said as she waved the glittery black invitation in her hand. “Halloween’s not for another month.” She basked in the comfortable warmth of the early morning sun coming in through Lugo’s kitchen windows. There was great light in here, and it made her think about where she could set up her easel. 

“Duro likes to get a head start,” Lugo said. He dug their breakfast out of the paper bag, handing her a sesame bagel with cream cheese, just the way she liked. “It’s more a history lesson for the kids, actually. It’s his own brand of preparation to get them ready to go back to school; jumpstart the brains and all. He has everyone dress up in costume period pieces of the world and share some information about the era they represent.”

“And we are?” Marcia asked. 

“Ancient Rome,” Lugo said. “He’s teaching them about European history this year. Duro’s already called dibs on Chaucer. Castus is Victor Hugo and Diona’s claimed a young Queen Victoria. Dagan’s going as Cyrus the Great to explain the importance of centuries of influence from the Cradle of Civilization.”

Marcia did a quick name to face match for Dagan. “That explains the interesting beard shape. I thought he was trying out for an Anthrax cover band.” She moved her feet from the other chair as Lugo pulled it out to sit down. She placed them in his lap once they got settled. “What are they doing about all the time and eras in-between?” Marcia asked. 

Lugo laughed, low and soft. “He has a phone tree and a whole world of people who owe him favors. Obviously they can’t cover everything, but eh.”

Marcia nodded in agreement. There was really only one question she had. “And just where are we supposed to get the costumes?” 

Lugo laughed. “It’s about time you met Nasir.”

Nasir ended up being one of Duro’s many and various acquaintances, who actually helped run a costume store while working with the local theater productions and designing some of his own on the side. He was welcoming but still restrained in a way that Marcia appreciated. Nasir respected the personal space cushion that Duro and Castus ignored at all costs. 

“I’ll be there on History Lives day,” Nasir assured her as he sorted through a rack of costumes. “It’ll be me, some double stick tape, and a whole lot of patience. Duro puts a lot of effort into these things, so I like to do my best. It gets the center good press, the store’s name in the paper, and teaches the kids a lesson.” He made a curious sound as he pulled down two costumes and held them up. “I think we’ll go with the tan for you. You’ll be playing Roman slaves, so no beautiful dresses.” He smirked. “Or senators’ robes for Lugo.”

Marcia frowned. “A tunic then?”

Nasir winked. “Just wait and see.”

Four days later Marcia had to have her jaw physically closed by Castus. 

“Mind the drool, darling,” he said. He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger as he hummed under his breath. “It’s not as if you’ve never seen the man shirtless before. Or less by now, I presume, though Lugo would never tell and he’d break my ribcage if I dared to ask.”

Marcia took a deep, steadying breath as she watched Lugo, dressed in a glorified loincloth made of fabric scraps and leather, lift two six-year-olds up in his arms and pretended to bench press them. It was difficult to determine who laughed the most, the kids or Lugo.

“Oh,” Castus said, voice gone soft. “I see.” He kissed her cheek. “Congratulations on finding such a precious thing. Be careful with him; he’s far more delicate than his exterior makes him seem.”

Marcia smiled as she patted Castus’ cheek. “I know; I will.” She handed him her cup of some organic no sugar fruit punch and decided to join Lugo as a story time circle formed around his feet. 

A little dusty redheaded girl went straight for Lugo’s lap. “Lugo, SMASH!” she yelled.

“Lily, remember your indoor voice,” Lugo said. 

Lily rolled her hazel eyes. “Papa always says that, but Daddy calls it crap.”

“Gannicus has never met a rule he liked,” Lugo agreed. “I can’t imagine your mother agrees with him though.”

Lily nestled into the cradle of Lugo’s arms. “She says whatever keeps the house happy is best.”

Marcia sat down beside them, wondering at their obviously close connection. 

“Ms. Lily, I’d like you to meet Ms. Marcia, she’s very special to me,” he said.

 

********************

_The Jasmine_ was named after the baby cradled in strong arms in the center of the painting. All these years later it still amused Marcia that she’d met all three of Oenomaus, Melitta, and Gannicus’ children long before she met the three parents. They’d found a trusted babysitter in Lugo, and it’d been one of those things that made Marcia admit she’d fallen hard for him. Lugo had a whole found family around him that took care of each other. It was more than just a group of co-workers; they had an actual community and they’d welcomed Marcia in like one of their own. It was something, that deep sense of place, friendship and family, she’d never found before in this city. Lugo had even confessed, one night after running into one of the assholes she’d used to date, that she’d always have a place with them, even when their relationship ended. She clutched to him that night, pressed kisses to his face, neck, over his heart, into his hands until he finally went to sleep. She really hadn’t let go since then. 

Marcia pushed away from the wall documenting that summer and walked over to the next section which showed her career four years after that whole season of a world change. There was a guest work in the center, a photo taken by one L. Voss, who proudly hung his wife’s artwork in perfect precision on the blank wall of their living room. Kara was only six months old then, had squirmed the whole time except when her father had sung her lullaby, and then she’d looked straight at him and the lens.

“Who knew such a little girl would become as tall as Donar,” Lugo said. He stood beside her, their hands brushing together, as they looked on the first of their artistic collaborations.

“This night really is as much about you as it is me,” Marcia said. She turned to him, pressing a kiss to the receding hairline dusted with grey around his temples. “You were my muse after all.”

“It was my siren song,” Lugo agreed. He wrapped an arm around her waist as he took his own journey through the past. “We should go before Laeta tracks us down. She’s threatening to put me in a kilt again.”

Marcia playfully gasped in shock. “No one gets to see your bare calves but me. That was part of our marriage vows, Mr. Voss. I expect you to keep to them.”

“Then it’s a good thing Gannicus lost that bet so I didn’t have to hand over the nudes for this exhibit,” he quipped. 

It was completely inappropriate for people of their age to chase each other around an art gallery, but it that moment it was absolutely warranted.


End file.
